CARTS AND HORSES (by Tom Russell)

Feb 27, 2018Mary Russell

My father had started working for Blue Cross around the time I was born, in an entry-level position. It didn't take long for him to advance up the ranks into management. I don't remember a whole lot of conversations with my father before he died, but I remember him telling me that he was always the first one in and the last one out, and that if you put in the time and the energy, if you work hard and seize opportunities, you can make something of yourself.

I got my first job when I still a teenager - I wasn't even old enough to drive - at the local library. My first week was pretty disastrous - some kids took my keys and locked me in the dropbox room. And though in the years that followed I consistently demonstrated responsibility and knowledge, and though I was often one of the first in and the last out, I never really got anywhere. The higher-ups still saw me as that silly kid that got locked in the dropbox room during his first week. They never took me seriously. They made it pretty clear by the end of my tenure that I would never advance, and thus never be able to support my family working there, even if I worked a second job (which I often did).

I eventually got a new job - the last one I would ever work before dedicating myself to Hollandspiele full-time. When I started there, I was quite eager for a fresh start and a chance to prove myself. And at first it didn't seem like I'd have that chance. My position was largely anonymous, and while it required some thinking and creativity, there wasn't too much you could do to distinguish yourself positively, while there were ample opportunities to draw negative attention. Early in my tenure it felt like a case of second verse, same as the first, a little bit louder and a little bit worse. But at least this time it almost paid all our bills, giving us the tantalizing illusion of living paycheck to paycheck. So I kept my head down and did the best that I could, fully resigned to my anonymity, and to the fact that I'd probably be stuck in this entry-level position my entire time there.

If you're wondering what all this has to do with wargames, well, we'll get there by the end of it. A few months in, the company began one of its periodic initiatives to overhaul the various training manuals and, in the case of my department, write them in the first place. Since I was part of a two-person team working within the larger department, and we had two overlapping workflows, our bosses assigned each of us a manual. And I immediately saw this for what it was, what I was waiting my entire working life for: an opportunity. Because if there was one thing I knew how to do after spending a few years designing board games, it was how to write and organize a rulebook.

I'm not even going to say that the manual I produced was a great one. But it was competent, and that was sadly heads and shoulders (and even waists and knees) above all the others. I divided it into numbered chapters and sub-chapters: 1.1, 1.2, you know the drill, complete with parenthetical numbered references. Most of the other books boasted no organization at all, instead contenting themselves with being one long eighty-page stream-of-consciousness ramble.

That was the first time they noticed me. I got a raise on the spot. Much to my colleague's chagrin, they had me take over his manual, and one of the other manuals for the group on top of that. By the time I was done, I had secured a second raise, as well as my first promotion. I would eventually secure two more promotions, earning my way into management. I honestly believe that if they hadn't decided to pawn off the manuals to the entry-level staff, I never would've had the chance to exercise my skills. And of course, if I hadn't gotten into gaming, and wargames in particular, a couple of years earlier, I wouldn't have had the skills to exercise in the first place, and never would have advanced at all.

From time to time, the company would bring in new staff and outside consultants to help get all the manuals done "properly". The definition of "properly" changed drastically depending on who the manual people were, and usually by the time the manuals were close to one group's standards, a new group would come in, and the process would start all over again. But there was one thing that was maddeningly consistent, and it's something that's easiest to illustrate with a brief example.

Let's assume that a given workflow has a general shape - a beginning, middle, and end that remains consistent regardless of the specifics. We'll say there are five steps. Now, in each step of that workflow, there are special cases - let's go easy on our poor hypothetical corporate cog and assume that each step has three such special cases, and each special case has two possible, situation-dependent, solutions. The question then becomes how to communicate this to one's audience, and how to make the departmental training manual useful as both a teaching and a reference tool.

The "proper" way to do it - this is again, according to the manual people - was to fold the information into each step thusly:

Step 1 Special Case A Solution I Solution II Special Case B Solution I Solution II Special Case C Solution I Solution IIStep 2 Special Case A etc.

This was, incidentally, the way most of the manuals were "organized" when I started at the company. It also renders the whole thing completely useless as a teaching tool: it's so bogged down in details and exceptions that a trainee couldn't see the scope of the thing. They might be able to memorize the steps and the exceptions, but they couldn't understand what it is that they were actually doing. More often than not, they'd get mixed up, applying a solution to the wrong special case or Step. This confusion is a natural result of organizing the information in that way: it's putting the cart before the horse, or rather in the horse, which is far messier.

One thing I advocated for, and did with my own manuals, was to illustrate the general case first, in its entirety, then get into the nitty-gritty and exceptions:

This met with a surprising amount of push-back, and repeated demands from the manual people that I re-do my manuals "properly". My own superiors, as well as the people under me once I moved into management, were happy with the results though, and by the time my revisions were due, hey look, now there's new manual people. (I'm not sure if there was ever a final, approved version of any of those manuals as a result.)

Oddly enough, just as my experience with wargame rulesets informed my manual-writing, my experience with manual-writing has gone on to inform my wargame rulesets. Mary and I have run into a number of wargames that detail all manner of special rules and sub-processes in the middle of the general/normal rules, to the point where it obscures the actual structure of the game and what the players are actually doing on their turn.

Part of our job as publishers of course is to make that structure easy to grasp, and the game easy to get into. Most of our organizational effort consists of "throwing it in the back": moving special cases into the back of the rulebook where they belong. Explain the general rules first, simply and cleanly, and save the one-offs for the end.

When you have something that's more complex, a "first things first" structure is often going to make the concepts easier to swallow, but it's not always the best solution. If there's only one or two fairly minor special rules in the entire thing, it might make more sense to just cover them as you go along, rather than tucking them away in the back where they might be forgotten or overlooked. The point of course isn't to slavishly do things one way or the other, but to do whatever makes for the most effective communication and places the proper emphasis.